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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29385852">Come and Take the Consequence</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyMurphy/pseuds/HeyMurphy'>HeyMurphy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Metalocalypse (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury, M/M, also this isn't pre-existing relationship, assault with a bodily fluid lmao, bloody nose, but it does hint at future feelings :'), i don't think this deserves the 'graphic depictions of violence' but there IS a lot of blood in this, i think charles likes when he can take care of people hehe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:42:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,205</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29385852</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyMurphy/pseuds/HeyMurphy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Not even 48 hours after his lead vocalist is stabbed, Charles finds himself face-to-face with the culprit. But try as he might, he can't bring himself to hate the man.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Magnus Hammersmith/Charles Foster Offdensen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Come and Take the Consequence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>wrote this last year as a gift and now i'm taking it public. :) enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Charles parked in a hurry and raced inside, forgetting his briefcase. His secretary sat behind her desk, professional as always, though there was an edge of anxiety in her otherwise placid stare as he came through the door. </p><p>“Go home, Grace,” he told her, keeping his voice low. “You shouldn’t be here for this.”</p><p>Not needing to be told twice, the mousy young woman rose silently from her chair, grabbed her purse, and promptly fled. Charles waited another few seconds, drawing in a long breath. Of course this had to happen first thing on a Monday. He’d missed out on his usual latte due to Grace’s untimely text alerting him <em> someone </em> had staggered into the building and now refused to leave. And he unfortunately knew the most likely suspect.</p><p>He entered the office and there, sitting on the client’s side of the desk with his back to the door, was a tall, hunched figure with an unkempt mop of dark curls.</p><p>“Mr. Hammersmith.”</p><p>Magnus turned in the chair and Charles actually flinched. </p><p>Apparently, when Pickles had called Saturday night to describe the altercation that took place, he hadn’t been exaggerating the brutality. Bruises like an inkblot test colored Magnus’ face a painful, angry purple. The bridge of his nose was puffy and tender-looking. Scabs crusted on his lower lip and along a split in the skin under his right eye, and his left eye was swollen shut so severely that Charles felt a sudden pang of concern for it. The man should’ve been seeing a doctor, not bothering him first thing in the morning and scaring his secretary.</p><p>“Took you long enough,” Magnus said. His voice was oddly slurred as he tried to speak through the broken parts of his face. “You and me are gonna have a chat.”</p><p>Charles crossed the room to the desk, but didn’t sit. Sitting would just legitimize this little impromptu meeting, and he had no intention of rewarding such brazen behavior. His mind whirled into action to find some way to coax Magnus out of the office without getting police involved. </p><p>Pickles’ frantic words played in his head. <em> He stabbed him, Charlie! Stabbed him so hard he left the goddamn knife in his back!  </em></p><p>“There’s nothing to discuss, Mr. Hammersmith. The band has informed me that they’ve fired you. As such, you are no longer a member of Dethklok, and I no longer represent you.”</p><p>“That’s bullshit,” Magnus spat. “I don’t get any say in this whatsoever? I helped form the fuckin’ band.”</p><p>“Even if you were still a member of Dethklok, it’s, ah, four against one. The majority rules. My hands are tied.”</p><p>Magnus glared up at him with the one good eye, though perhaps calling it ‘good’ was being generous, bloodshot and bruised as it was. “So what’re my rights, then?”</p><p>“Your rights?”</p><p>“Yeah, my fuckin’—my <em> rights</em>, man! To my <em> song</em>. I wrote ‘The Hammer’. They don’t get to keep that, all right? I’m takin’ it with me.”  </p><p>“I believe, ah, legally, you are only <em> one </em> of the contributing writers on that song.”</p><p>This brought Magnus to his feet in one great lurch, towering over Charles by nearly a foot. Charles felt the instinct to back up but remained in place and squared his jaw. Intimidation wouldn’t work on him so readily, especially not when his would-be intimidator was already beaten to a pulp. And drunk, from the smell of him.</p><p>“It’s <em> my </em> song, Offdensen! Legally or fuckin’ not!”</p><p>“And I’ll be more than happy to see you financially compensated for it once it’s placed on the album,” Charles said, staring up at him. Somehow the welts and cuts were much more gruesome viewed from below. “But ‘The Hammer’ is copyrighted as a Dethklok song, and it will stay a Dethklok song.”</p><p>Magnus’ top lip curled in a disgusting sneer. “And what if I decide to sue?”</p><p>“You’re more than welcome to try,” Charles said, narrowing his eyes. “Frankly, ah, if you’d like my off-the-record opinion, I believe you should let this lie and be grateful Mr. Explosion chose not to involve the police after you assaulted him. With a deadly weapon, might I add. That’s a class three felony in this state.”</p><p>“I barely touched him!”</p><p>“He needed nine stitches. Now please—” Charles stepped to the side, giving Magnus a clear pathway to the door. “—I think you’ll, ah, find our business is concluded. Good luck in all your future endeavors, Mr. Hammersmith. Take care of yourself.” </p><p>“Take care?” Magnus snarled in a mocking tone, and in one sharp strike he snatched Charles’ lapel. “I’ll take care of <em> you</em>, you fuckin’—”</p><p>Before Magnus had even finished threatening him, Charles ducked to the outside of the arm, grabbed for the back of the man’s neck and shoulder, forced him down, and kneed him in the face. </p><p>Magnus slid off his knee and dropped to the floor so hard Charles feared he’d fainted. He gurgled and coughed, though, shaky hands cupping his nose. “<em>Fffffuck</em>,” he moaned. “It was broke already, ya prick. Didn’t hafta fuckin’ do that...”</p><p>“You tried to attack me,” Charles said as he readjusted his cuffs and tightened his tie. His heart beat in his throat, though he kept his expression stoic. </p><p>“I didn’t try <em> shit</em>,” Magnus said. He sniffled wetly, blood already seeping out the bottom of his hands and dribbling onto his bare chest in thick, bright drops. “ <em> Jesus</em>, man, I’m just tryna have a fuckin’ conversation...”</p><p>Frowning, Charles regarded him with begrudging worry. It really was quite a lot of blood. “Get up before you stain my carpet, please.”</p><p>Magnus groaned but complied, sinking into the chair he’d occupied moments earlier. He still cradled his face. His brown eye stayed on Charles, though, furious yet wary, as if anticipating another blow. </p><p>“Ah, here,” said Charles, tugging a folded white handkerchief from his pocket. He held it out like an olive branch. “It’s clean.”</p><p>Magnus looked at the handkerchief and lowered his hands. He was a ghastly sight, blood pouring down his lips and beard like someone forgot to turn off a tap in his head. His chest and stomach were streaked red from the countless drips, and Charles stared, transfixed and repulsed in equal measure. None of this should’ve been happening. Not in his office. Not on a Monday, at the very least.</p><p>“Fuck you,” Magnus said, and he spat at Charles like a petulant child, spraying him with warm flecks of blood and saliva. </p><p>Charles reared back, stunned. His mouth, thank god, had been closed. Small miracles. He removed his glasses to clean them with the handkerchief, then slowly, calmly, wiped his face. He didn’t even want to think about the state of his collar and jacket.</p><p>With a short, pointed exhale, he leveled his eyes at Magnus and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Assault with a bodily fluid. That’s up to a year in prison if convicted.”</p><p>Magnus sat there, scowling at him through a crimson sheen. “You really think I give a shit?” He wheezed out a laugh and dragged the sleeve of his dark denim jacket across his lips, though it didn’t really help matters much as fresh blood flowed readily to replace what he smeared away. </p><p>“You <em> should</em>,” Charles said, eyeing the bloodied sleeve with revulsion. He folded the handkerchief over to a cleaner side and leaned in, seizing Magnus’ bruised jaw in an iron grip to keep him in place. A choking whine squeezed from between Magnus’ lips as his eyebrows peaked in pain, his body tense. Charles ignored his discomfort and mopped at his face. </p><p>“What’s your fuckin’—ow! <em> Quit it!</em>”  </p><p>“I gave you a chance to do this yourself, but since you insist on being stubborn…” Charles pressed the handkerchief hard against the underside of the broken nose, earning a sputtering groan. </p><p>Magnus clamped a slick, red hand around Charles’ wrist as a tear welled up and clung to the bottom lashes of his good eye. “Fuck, <em> fuck</em>—just <em> stop</em>, god <em> damn </em> it!” His plea wavered with an uncharacteristic edge of desperation, though Charles was unconvinced at this little performance. When he twisted his wrist out of Magnus’ grip to keep prodding at him, however, the tear spilled down the hollow of Magnus’ cheek, followed by another, and another.</p><p>Pausing his ministrations at the sight, Charles sighed in irritation. “Would’ve thought perhaps you were above crocodile tears, Mr. Hammersmith.”</p><p>“Eat a dick,” Magnus said, and he yanked the handkerchief from Charles to pinch it delicately around his nose. His eye still leaked. </p><p>Perhaps the tears were legitimate after all. Hm. An uncomfortable notion. “Tilt your head forward so you don’t swallow the blood.”</p><p>“I know how to have a fuckin’ bloody nose.”</p><p>“All right, well, I tried.” Now that the excitement seemed to have passed, Charles inspected his hands and grimaced at the blood drying tacky on his skin. He wanted to wash up, but leaving Magnus alone in the office wasn’t an option. “I, ah, don’t suppose you feel like leaving now.”</p><p>Magnus’ voice was congested and muffled as he spoke. “And go where exactly?”</p><p>Oh, that was right. Charles couldn’t imagine the boys were allowing him to remain in the apartment. “I’d suggest the hospital, perhaps.”</p><p>Magnus tried to laugh but it was more like a thick cough, and he choked and gagged at the end of it as if the blood running down the back of his throat were drowning him. Another fat tear slid down slowly and lingered in the stubble at the curve of his jaw. “With what—” He gasped in a heavy breath that Charles hoped wasn’t the beginnings of a sob. “—with what fuckin’ money, genius?”</p><p>For a moment, Charles did nothing. The absolute last thing he wanted was to give this man a single unearned cent, but he also wanted very badly for this man to go away. And that eye really did need to be looked at by a professional. So, with a deep frown of resignation, he produced his wallet and thumbed out a few hundreds. </p><p>“This should be, ah, more than sufficient,” he said.</p><p>Magnus scoffed and sniffled. “Pity? From <em> you?</em> This is new.”</p><p>“It’s not pity, it’s generosity.” Charles shoved the bills into the right breast pocket of that horrid denim jacket. “That you don’t deserve, I hope you realize.”</p><p>Magnus gripped Charles’ wrist again before he could draw back, though a softer grip than before. “Don’t think for a second this makes everything okay.” </p><p>Charles said nothing, and a tense few seconds of silence settled between them before Magnus grew tired of not getting a proper reaction and stood up to go. Those long legs nearly buckled, but he put a hand on the desk to steady himself. If he was planning to wait for any more of Charles’ assistance, he was sorely mistaken. With a grumble, he finally trudged out, and Charles poked his head out of his office to make certain he left the building entirely, which he did, slamming the door so hard the glass rattled.</p><p>In the quiet that followed, Charles took stock of himself. He was in one piece. Wasn’t even hurt. He was covered in speckles of blood from his chest to his hairline, though he hoped he’d wiped most of it from his face. His office had a few bloodstains. And he was out three hundred dollars. All things considered, not bad for an encounter with a man who’d stabbed his best friend over the weekend.</p><p>He went to the restroom to wash himself off and changed from the waist up using a spare set of clothing he kept in his office for coffee mishaps. After spending a good twenty minutes scrubbing a couple spots where Magnus had dripped, Charles at last took a well-deserved seat behind his desk and cracked his knuckles, prepared to officially start the day. </p><p>And he’d left his briefcase in the car. Just great.</p><p>He went out to the parking lot with keys in hand, and as he unlocked the passenger-side door his gaze drifted across the street. Lo and behold, there was Magnus Hammersmith reclined longways across the bus stop bench, one arm folded under his head like a pillow, his still-bloody face tucked up against the crook of the elbow. </p><p>Charles should’ve just gone back inside. He really should’ve. Instead, he left the briefcase in the car and locked up the building. His steps were brisk as he walked across the street to stand over Magnus, blocking the sun until the man noticed and cracked open the lone eye.</p><p>“Hey, bud.”</p><p>“I, ah, thought you drove here.”</p><p>Magnus shrugged. “Nah, my depth perception’s all fucked.”</p><p>It seemed that having some time to decompress had made Magnus slightly more amiable, and Charles dreaded what was about to come out of his own mouth. “You can’t ride the bus looking like this.”</p><p>“Oh no?”</p><p>“No,” said Charles firmly. “Come on. Up. I’m taking you to the hospital.”</p><p>Magnus choked out another wheezy laugh. “More generosity from Saint Charles?”</p><p>“No, <em> this </em> is actually pity.”</p><p>“Man, fuck you,” Magnus said, but he was still laughing, and he stood up to follow Charles back across the street.</p>
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